


burn or deluge

by oliverwvvd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Flintwood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverwvvd/pseuds/oliverwvvd
Summary: Oliver kisses Marcus, and nothing is ever the same.





	burn or deluge

It’s hard for Oliver not to feel every instant of how _he_ makes his breathing ragged, like he’s reached inside his chest and found a way to shred it raw. At first, the exchanges between them are all flood and flame, burn or deluge, and there’s absolutely no in between. Their blood runs hot and cold, the same way that the words between them always have, the bruises that they nurse on their knuckles and ribs and faces from the Quidditch pitch and other exchanges.

If Oliver had to give _confusion_ a name, for years, it’s there in the sly shape of Marcus Flint’s crooked half-smile. At first, it infuriates him, stirs the competitiveness between them to a boil until at last, they’re both captains and they’re both itching for a fight, over and over again. It’s seventh year and everything hits the surface, sharp and abrupt. Neither of them is ready for it. It doesn’t matter.

It was never part of the plan to knot fingers against Marcus’ shoulders and lick into his mouth, make him surrender with a kiss that smashes everything apart, never mind the cut on his lip, taste of copper and violence and so many shadows for Oliver to dive into and peel back, to find what’s under the layers. At first it’s just the culmination of frustration and hiding, but understanding dawns on both of them around the same time that the kiss changes from another way to gain victory into something searing, a battle that’s white-hot with potential. The realisation remains unacknowledged until Marcus breaks the rules ( _cheating again, Flint?_ ) and inches fingers under the edge of Oliver’s Quidditch uniform to find bare skin.

It’s almost an hour after curfew before Oliver returns to his dorm, with still blown pupils and reddened lips and a blossom of bites on his throat that the sweater doesn’t completely hide. He collapses on his bed, draws the curtains closed and stares at the ceiling, thinks of a boy who pulled him in and took him apart with a kiss.

There's no in between with them. It's burn or deluge, crash and burn.


End file.
